


Helping Friends Move

by copperbadge



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Character, Bruce Banner-centric, M/M, Ogling, clint's biceps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2616800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce may not have been entirely up front about his motives in asking for Clint's help moving into Stark Tower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Friends Move

**Author's Note:**

> Written by request of Paxfelis on Tumblr, backed up by Scifigrl47 giving me sad eyes.

"Not that I mind, boss," Clint said, setting a box down on the kitchen counter in Bruce’s new Stark Tower apartment, "but I thought you gave up all your worldly goods when you decided to do your penance in some distant foreign land. I mean, your file wasn’t specific, but it seems like it was implied."

Bruce, who was elbows-deep in a box of biology textbooks ten years out of date which had been in storage for nine of them, shot him an amused look. Clint had been calling him boss all day, first jokingly, then casually, and, he suspected now, permanently. 

"When I...when it all happened, Betty packed up my place and put it all in storage," he said, tossing two books into the third "burn as bad science" pile. Tony was planning a bonfire of epic proportions with all of Bruce’s hideous 90s clothing and elderly books. Not fuel efficient, but probably cathartic. "She sent me the key to the storage after the Chitauri invasion."

"Betty?" Clint asked delicately, and then ruined the nuance by adding, "The one that got away?"

"Yeah," Bruce agreed, looking down into the box. Top of the list of conversations he did not want to have with the hot young spy he asked to help him move so he could get eight hours of those arms flexing: Betty Ross. 

He loved her. He probably always would. But she had a life of her own, and his life was different now -- they were both different now, as people -- and it was safer not to go back. History was another country, heavily laced with land mines. They could wound her far more than him. 

Clint, on the other hand, he had no history with, and Clint was combat-trained, weaponized, dangerous. He had also been obligingly sleeveless, and then pleasantly shirtless. Bruce wasn't even sure he wanted anything beyond being able to look a whole bunch, but if he did, Clint would be capable of being casual, of not getting too involved. 

Clint also seemed content to let the conversation go, slapping his palms flat on a box. “Okay, boss, this is the last of the boxes in the van.”

"I can’t thank you enough for your help, Clint."

"Nah, it was a good workout," Clint replied, as Bruce set down the scalpel he was using to open the boxes with and leaned into the fridge. 

"Beer?" Bruce offered, coming up with two bottles. "I think pizza’s traditional too, if you want to take a load off."

Clint mopped his neck with a rag. “Actually, these boxes are filthy. Can I use your shower while you order the pie?”

Bruce tried not to swallow loudly. “Sure.” 

Clint nodded his thanks and disappeared into the bathroom. Bruce looked at the ceiling. “JARVIS?”

"If I may say, Dr. Banner, Agent Barton’s topping preferences and yours overlap in the areas of sausage, bell peppers, and garlic," JARVIS replied.

"Hold the garlic, add a salad," Bruce said.

"Noted, sir. ETA is twenty minutes. Agent Barton has no towel." 

Bruce blinked. “Oh?”

JARVIS was pointedly silent. Bruce shifted some boxes around until he could reach the one marked LINENS, cut into it, sifted through bedsheets and blankets and pillowcases, and finally came up with a hand towel. He looked at it, sighed, and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Clint, I don’t have any towels, and you’re going to love the one towel I did find...." Bruce trailed off as the water died and the curtain slid open. 

Oddly enough, his eyes still went to the biceps. Well, every man had his personal favorites.

When he finally dragged his eyes up to Clint’s face, the other man was grinning, hair plastered to his head like a drowned puppy. 

"You’re not subtle, boss," Clint said, accepting the hand towel and drying his hair with it. "Fortunate for you, 'cause subtlety is lost on me at any rate."

"I don’t -- " Bruce stammered, and Clint kissed him, steam curling around them both.

"Your meal has arrived and is on its way up," JARVIS announced, in a tone so neutral it verged on inappropriate. 

"You better get that, I’m starving," Clint said, and kissed Bruce’s forehead. "I’m gonna put on some pants and get a beer, and then I'm gonna sit around and flex shirtlessly, now that I haven’t got any boxes as an excuse."

"Mnuh," Bruce said. Clint shoved him towards the front door gently. When he returned from dazedly accepting the food, Clint was lounging on the sofa in his jeans, shirtless and barefoot. He also clearly wasn't wearing any underpants. 

"I’m not subtle either," he said, accepting the box of pizza. Bruce settled next to him as Clint opened the box and visibly downshifted. "Ooh, bell peppers!"

**Author's Note:**

> _paxfelis replied to your post: I know it’s not your favorite pairing but can I have some Bruce/Clint slash please?_
> 
> **copperbadge:** on the one hand I don’t want to reward someone who asked for slash after a day of moving  
>  **scifigrl47:** But you kind of want to write it  
>  **copperbadge:** on the other I’m enjoying the idea that Bruce asked Clint to help him move into Stark Tower basically so he could get eight hours of dem arms flexing  
>  **scifigrl47:** Sam.  
>  **scifigrl47:** Would it help if I asked for this?  
>  **scifigrl47:** (Sad eyes)  
>  **copperbadge:** ahahahaha


End file.
